Sunset Sakura
by JellyMcweevil
Summary: A girl in love with Japan can't believe it when her dream guy comes knocking at her door.


Chapter 1

The paintbrush glides along the canvas with such grace, I step back to admire my work. I want to dance, but I never have the confidence. So I'm stuck here doing art. All day every day in this apartment.

The sun shines through my window, illuminating the painting. Over the years, I have become somewhat of an expert painting faces, and creating manga. But today, I feel kinda crazy, so I'm painting abstract. It looks strange to me, new and alien. To be honest, it looks as though a two year old has been unleashed to the vibrancy of colours. My mind exploded whilst painting, thinking of everything in my life. Sure, I admire all art – even abstract. But this looks like total shit, so I think I will scrap it.

A huge sigh escapes my mouth as I wander over to the kitchen area and grab an apple from the bowl. I have a strange relationship with apples. With a childhood watching anime like Death Note, it has left me a nerd and utter introvert. I prefer to hide away in my cosy apartment, with my art and anime and music. Robotically, I take a huge bite of the green apple, and feel its crisp freshness awaken my senses. I lean over the counter and stare at my painting from afar. Using a thumb, I see the painting in thumbnail and a whole new masterpiece crowds my vision. Inspiration strikes like lightning. A smile spreads across my apple juice stained lips. Scratch by BG5 comes on from my powerful stereo, and as I enter my studio again, I turn the volume up. The sound fills my head, fuelling the fire of inspiration. I grab my paintbrush and begin.

"10 minutes? Perfect. Ok, sayonara!"

I put down my mobile and sink into my sofa. Ordering Japanese food always fills my heart with warmth. It's not a food many would pick for a Saturday night takeaway. But I love Japan and its food, and the place nearby does its exotic taste wonders.

A new anime I've never seen before plays quietly on the TV. I see my reflection in the colourful screen. Blonde British hair, and clothing choice of pyjamas. I stick my tongue out at my reflection and laugh.

The dangers of being alone: it makes you kind of loopy.

A break comes on, advertising a car, so I get up and slink into my studio for a few minutes. I call it a studio, but it's more of a transformed second bedroom. But that's fine, because whenever I stay up late painting, I can just fall into the spare bed and sleep. There is a small desk pressed up against the window. On it contains a laptop which I use for many things (writing, inspiration, emails to my parents), and a messy disarray of pencils and copic markers. Some of my work lays discarded on the bedside table, like fallen soldiers. My latest painting stands on its easel in the corner. Now, the abstract eruption contains a sad face. I'm still unsure as to why the face is sad. It just came out that way.

Before I know it, I have walked over to my laptop and opened up a new document. My fingers move of their own accord, and type "I am lonely". I frown at my simple yet acute words. I am lonely. Does this link to the face?

Suddenly, my heart jerks violently in my chest as I hear the doorbell ring. Its shrill sound makes me shiver. I get up and walk slowly to the door. When I open it, the food is here. "Oh", I exclaim, "let me just get your money".

"Take your time", says the guy.

As I round the corner to my kitchen, I throw a puzzled look back at him. He doesn't look familiar. He must be new.

He passes me the food with gentle hands when I come back with the money. The aromatic smell of Udon and prawn Katsu fills my apartment. It tingles my nose and makes me grin from ear to ear. "Arigatou!" I say to the delivery man.

"You're welcome", he replies with a Japanese accent and voice like silk. It is so soft and kind, I have to look up into his face. At this moment he turns to leave.

"Wait!" I say, almost desperately. He turns back slowly, and I struggle for something to say. "You look different from the guy I usually have. Katsuki Uta I think his name was" I manage to say. Recognition flickers in the man's deep set brown eyes. "Ah yes. I am new to Sakura no Hana Takeaway. My name is Takamoro Ishida. Nice to meet you". He bows slightly, with a friendly smirk on his face. "Hajimemashite. Watashino namae wa Raven des", I say, bowing low. Takamoro's smirk grows like a blossoming flower. "You speak Japanese?" he asks intrigued. I take a minute to recite in my head. "Watashi wa sukoshi nihongo ga hanasemasu. I'm still learning", I say nervously, hoping he understood my effort at Japanese.

Takamoro smiles in appreciation. "Well, you're doing very well. Keep practising".

Silence overtakes for a moment as we stand at the open doorway. I look at his face and notice how young he is. Takamoro can't be much older than me. He has pale skin like porcelain. High slanted cheekbones, and a charming cheeky look in his eyes. Hair as black as night falls delicately onto his eyelashes. He catches me staring, and our eyes lock. His friendly smile drops a little. "Can I help you?" In the same moment I realise I am still staring, I become very consciously aware that I am wearing pyjamas. My mouth closes shut, and my cheeks flush. "Erm, no. sorry. I mean, gomennasai" I stutter. Takamoro chuckles, and it sounds like heaven. "It's ok. Well, have a good night Charlotte and enjoy your meal!"

The door closes. "Yeah. I will", I say in a dazed, small voice.

Once I have dished up the food, I take my chopsticks and sit down to eat. I leave the stereo on and let it play a classical piano piece. With practiced hands, I eat ravenously with the chopsticks. The food is absolutely immaculate. Each bite brings on an avalanche of flavour, good enough to make me screech with pleasure.

After the meal has been eaten, I sit back in my chair. Light major chords contrast with the minor on the current piano track. I am absolutely stuffed, and can't be bothered to get up. I roll my head to the kitchen window and gaze out into the darkening night. A blanket of stars hangs in the sky, slightly transparent due to all the light pollution.

The black night reminds me of Takamoro's hair. His features are burned into my mind, like an unforgettable dream. I shake my head. This can't be me. I never think of guys like this. I'm a social failure, how could I? But the more I think about the philosophy of it all, the more I begin to like this man I do not know.

A _bleep bleep_ knocks me from my reverie. With a great sigh, I get up and stagger into the studio. My laptop screen shows a new email from Mum and Dad. It reads:

_Hey baby, how're things?_

_We know you are on your gap year, but don't you think you should be doing more with your life? Your job cleaning the art gallery pays nicely, but it isn't enough. You need to be seeing the world while you are still young, and a degree from Uni can help. Why don't you come round to ours for dinner next Friday? Talk to you later, love you! From Mum xxx_

I smile and write out a quick simple reply:

_Hi Mum,_

_I am doing things with my life… and his name is Takamoro. Dinner sounds great, I'll bring pudding x _

I look up and the painting catches my eye. The document containing 'I am lonely' is still open on tab. Slowly at first, I build upon this simple sentence, until it grows like a tree clawing at the sky. A small yet dangerously intense story unfolds. Time ticks away, passing by without meaning. I write well into the night. My eyes going blurry, the screen merging into nothingness.

With a humungous yawn, I save and check the time. 3AM. In drunkenly tired motions, I shut down the laptop and fall with a thump onto the bed. I crawl like a cat under its covers and snuggle down. Rain starts outside and patters the window – a rhythmic lullaby. I fall asleep simultaneously.

The next day I wake with a start. I find myself curled in a tight ball. My laptop screen flashes. I laugh quietly to myself at the fact I left it on, when I thought I'd turned it off. A new message, a reply from Mum:

_Honey, my goodness you are growing up! You must bring this Takamoro with you to our dinner! We'll talk later! See you soon angel! From Mum xxx_

Unwillingly I drag myself out of bed to get ready. The mirror in the bathroom shows a messy bed head girl. The mirror in the hallway shows a bright eyed girl bursting with energy and ready for the day ahead.

Soon, I have the kitchen cleaned from last night's feast. My handy cooking skills fill the apartment with the smell of cheese on toast and fresh orange juice. It's a traditional British thing really. There is no skill needed. I flick on the TV for some background noise whilst I eat and read a bit of my book. This is my Sunday routine, every weekend. It's simple but sweet, and I like it.


End file.
